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OUR SONS KILL AFRICA (a reply to Ken Saro Wiwa’s Africa Kills Her)

There is no justice in this world as proven by how late I received your missive.
This happened almost 10 years later and I am not being defensive.
The greed in the society we lived in had proven divisive.
I tried to look for you Bana, when they came to question me, I was ever evasive.
I tried to find connections that you had on the Merchant Navy but they proved elusive.
Even the report I got from the prostitute from St Pauli was inconclusive.

I never heard of your stint as a clerk in the Ministry of Defense.
Thank God I did not because I would have seriously taken offence.
I knew the kind of person you were and you always spoke your two cents.
Your rage at the impunity in our government would never condense.
I would have enjoyed every moment while waiting for the battle of wits to commence.
As I laughed hysterically as your words built wisdom walls around them at their expense.

I find it amusing that you referred to yourself as a robber, a bandit or anything else you deemed fit.
I always considered you my own kind of Robin Hood, stealing knowledge from those who didn’t have use for it, my own Divine Bandit.
It was always scary for me. When I heard of your experiences with the police, I prayed that you don’t get hit.
I asked for help from the White Jesus and with my faith wavering I also turned to our fore fathers and for them an altar lit.
It’s a shame that considering how far I travelled on the run from the police that we never did meet.
And tears well up in my eyes as by your graveside, I hunch my back and there sit.

I grieve for the fact that you thought that you had to pay a price.
You never hurt no one and being too idealistic would have been your only vice.
They never knew that you and your friends were no richer than church mice.
And your only plan for the national cake was to make sure that everyone got a slice.
We were not horses to be content with imported or rather donated brown rice.
We had lost the game long before it started as they had fixed the dice.

You must remember how we used to laze about, but with the whole police force after me, I have grown limber.
After five years trying to be the game changer, I moved to the lovable country where they call the brave lion, Simba.
They did try to follow me there but they were a hospitable people and I will never stop wishing this was the same for you, Sazan and Jimba.
No one will ever sing songs of praise for the three of you as they will never find the right timbre.
On golden oaks they crucified their heroes without considering the price of timber.
Clearly the journey to the top of Mount Everest remains unbeknownst to no one else but the climber.

We live in a continent where almost everyone is dark skinned if not charcoal black.
Yet as you pointed out, we still associate everything bad with the color which shows that in wisdom we surely do lack.
I could easily see how all these combined could be the damned molting straw that broke the camel’s back.
And despite the childishness of this statement, we really do suck!!
Bana, my tears flow thicker than blood as the fact sinks in that your epitaph will only be immortalized in your letter but never as a graveside plaque.
I was deemed an enemy of the state and even in this foreign country, of me they still keep track.

I would love to have you smile from the other side of the grave, but Bana I have no children.
This was my own choice so please my dear do not label me a villain.
I looked at our continent, how our sons slit the throats of our daughters and mothers like chicken.
In their eyes full of anger and malice, I saw a true evil hidden.
I on my own had tried to talk to the few who would dare listen.
But as their evil brothers scrambled for their attention, I, being ignored was a given.

Do not be surprised when I tell you that what I speak of now has nothing to with our country.
It has become evident that our country folk are not the only ones who are hungry.
The hunger for justice has crossed borders to the rest of the African colony.
However, their definition of justice has filled the rivers with blood and as a punishment the Almighty has unleashed global warming and now our continent has become painfully sultry.
At the altar of their sacrifice, the political elite have thrown in their jibes, hooliganism, all and sundry.
My knees buckle at this but on my feet I have to die for the human community.

Bana, forgive me for the scenes that I have recounted.
I know you loved me despite the fact that you left me for all these moons and harvests that I have counted.
There comes a time…..you used to say……wait……..that was someone else on whose charred memory this phrase is mounted.
Nevertheless, I do believe that for all I have accounted.
I hope I am not a disappointment for what I have amounted.
In all this pain, hurt, stupidity, black self hate, the word LOVE has surmounted.

Four days after I got this letter.
I vowed to make a life better.
Notwithstanding my own, so I went to a children’s shelter.
I adopted the most adorable twins who make me smile as they stutter.
I could not change the world so I changed the person I had put on a tether.
In this world or the next, Bana, we will always be together.

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The sentimentality is as appealing as ‘Africa Kills Her Sun’ by Ken Saro Wiwa. The persona’s passionate cri de coeur is apparent now in Africa as tribalism thrives. Corruption is a norm. And almost half a century after being unchained by the imperialists, rebels still massacre people of their own.Political leaders rig elections to stay in power and will do anything to stick to their guns.O Africa, who will repair your lost virginity!

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